A wind blows from the pyramids,
From kings and from castles,
From churches slender as spears,
From corpulent baroque flowers.
O, how pretty is History!
Heads of paint die in frames.
Letters pray on stones.
The smell of withering roses trembles.
The echo of war songs melts.
History smells like a mortuary!
A powerful man rules the country.
Black slaves turn grindstones.
Blood flows, poison and wine,
A sword rings, and money.
I tremble reading History.
And the old whore Clio,
Seller of used truth,
Fears neither poison nor swords
But only the light of the sun.
(Henrikas Radauskas)
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Based on Topics: Light Poems, War & Peace Poems, Flowers Poems, Fear Poems, Money & Wealth Poems, Truth Poems, Wine Poems, Countries Poems, Letters Poems, History PoemsBased on Keywords: seller, clio, corpulent, mortuary, baroque, grindstones